


Silent days, violent shades

by acrosspontneuf (FangedAngel)



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Making Out, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/acrosspontneuf
Summary: ‘There’s profit in survival,’ Aria says, later, an offer masked as a parting shot as Shepard starts to walk away. They both know that Shepard can’t run, but Shepard allows herself the illusion for another stolen moment. The thought of disappearing is tempting - she could discover other galaxies, let this one save itself for once. She could live without being so intrinsically aware of how close she is to the end of it all.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Aria T'Loak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38





	Silent days, violent shades

**Author's Note:**

> Just some angsty smooching following the events of the Omega DLC in ME3. Written for the amazing [Katie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katieee/pseuds/Katieee). Nyreen is mentioned as alive because that's how I roll. Title and soundtrack: Aurora's Winter Bird.

The alcohol supplies are intact. Shepard finds it a tainted sort of blessing with Omega still smouldering around her. She is sitting at the tattered remains of Afterlife's bar. There's an odd sort of quiet in the aftermath of destruction. Nyreen has disappeared somewhere in the underbelly of the asteroid again, chasing what's left to be chased along with the Talons. Shepard's chosen not to ask Aria how she feels about any of this. The highly creative fragments of swearing and random crashing noises ringing out at intervals through the emptiness say enough.

Shepard drinks expensive whiskey from one of the few glasses that remain whole, aware that she is doing this on borrowed time. She should already be back on the Normandy. She has a galaxy to save, after all.

The problem with that is that no one's ever told her what to do about the weariness that's settled in her bones. No one's told her how it would all suffocate her. No one's told her how she would end up fearing sleep because it brings her closer and closer to her inevitable end. They told her to be a hero and forgot to tell her how to survive it. She supposes that's the point.

She drinks the whiskey, far too conscious of the fact that while she's sitting here planets are ending. Around her, Omega lies in tatters, but it lives. Outside of it, the shadow of death looms with the weight of universes.

Her hands are shaking, so she grips the glass tighter between them. The warmth of her palms affects the whiskey but it still doesn't feel like proof that she's alive, so she drinks and tells herself there's no point to this. The alcohol burns like regret and death, but it's not enough. It doesn't make the thoughts stop.

When Aria emerges back onto the main floor of the club, as impeccably poised as ever, Shepard feels entirely too aware of the smoke and detritus that still cling to her. Aria looks at Shepard and her mouth curls in that way that hints at all the mocking words that are just waiting to spill from her. Aria looks at Shepard, at the visible proof of weakness in her hands, and says nothing. Instead, she jumps over what remains of the bar with that offensive elegance of hers. Shepard watches her as she finds a glass that hasn't shattered despite being cracked and reclaims the bottle for herself.

Shepard doesn't know what to do with the continued silence, so she taps her finger along her glass, her blunt fingernails parodying rhythm until Aria's hand covers hers and disrupts the sound. The shock of contact makes Shepard's hands stop shaking and her thoughts stutter. She needs to fill the silence with noise but she can't form words and Aria's hand is still on hers. Shepard can only bring herself to raise an eyebrow but Aria doesn't bother to explain herself and that, at least, is familiar. All she does is look at Shepard like she can see right through her. All she does is remove her hand and sip on her drink like this is normal, but Shepard doesn't remember what normal feels like and knows that she won't find it here.

Everything feels slightly surreal, but Shepard attributes at least some of that to her own exhaustion. She can't remember the last time she slept more than a couple of hours at a time, kept awake by nightmares and meetings and all her fears. Until now she hasn't really had the chance to even sit since getting to Omega, what with Cerberus and adjutants and Aria. It's kept the rest of the galaxy at bay, though - an isolated battle. Now it's time to go back to war and everything in her refuses to move.

'Is the whole saviour complex thing getting you down, Shepard?' Aria asks, and there's no bite to it but it leaves its mark on Shepard anyway.

'Don't,' she starts saying, but she doesn't know how to finish the sentence, so she stops.

She's so tired that her muscles ache but she needs to move, she needs to leave Omega for the last time. She needs to stop thinking in 'lasts'. She stands and reaches for her helmet and gloves but doesn't have time to grab them before Aria's hand is back on hers, gripping her wrist firmly enough to make her breath catch.

'Don't what?' Aria says, her tone casual, but Shepard can feel the danger hiding just out of sight.

She shakes her head but doesn't move, and neither does Aria, and for a moment everything feels suspended, like time and gravity have ceased. Like a dream. Shepard wonders if she's fallen asleep, but Aria's skin is warmer than hers and Aria's thumb is pressed right against her pulse point. Shepard's heart races, traitorous and loud, and she has no idea what's happening, no idea what she's doing. She's used to stand-offs with Aria but she's also used to knowing what they entail.

'Don't what, Shepard?' Aria asks, again, and Shepard is so close to her face, only the bar between them, that she can see the flicker of exhaustion hiding in the corner of Aria's eyes.

She still doesn't know the answer, so she shrugs and says the only thing she can say and hope it brings the point across. 'I'm tired.'

Aria doesn't let go and Shepard can read her even less than usual. 'And?'

'And can we leave the bickering for later?' Shepard says, all too aware that the tiredness is giving her words a petulant note.

Aria keeps looking at her and Shepard doesn't know what she wants. She's got nothing else to give, so she looks away first, turns her gaze to a side. She notes the damage her shotgun's left on the ceiling and wonders if this is one of those random details she'll remember at the end. Aria's grip on her wrist tightens and the action regains her full attention. 

'I wasn't aware there's going to be a later,' Aria says, and Shepard is always aware of the finality of everything but she hates hearing it anyway.

She tries to snatch her hand away, but Aria smirks at her attempt, and Shepard does what she always does. She acts on impulse, jumping and hoping for the best. She presses her forehead to Aria's, her free hand finding its way to the curve of Aria's neck. The tension that's built between them snaps and twists like unleashed biotics and Shepard won't back down from it. She's too tired to care. She's running out of time.

Shepard expects to be blasted to the other side of the club. She doesn't expect Aria's hand in her hair. Time disintegrates in the space between them and Shepard really must be dreaming but she can feel everything. There's a tightness in her chest that's asking for all the things she can't have.

'I don't understand you hero types,' Aria says, and there's an edge to her voice that Shepard can't identify.

'But hero is exactly your type,' she counters with a whisper, because every sound feels amplified. This is familiar territory. This, she can do. The smile Aria gives her is dangerous, but it's nowhere near as lethal as her proximity, and Shepard's never been wise enough to run from annihilation.

The triumph she feels at the surprised sound Aria makes when Shepard kisses her is quickly overshadowed by the way Aria kisses her back. The hand in her hair pulls her head back while the hand on her wrist pulls her closer, the bar digging into the armour. They kiss each other like it's the last time and Shepard wants to be consumed by this, wants there to be nothing else but this. Somewhere in the distance, her crew waits for her to save them, like the galaxy does, and for a moment, for just one moment, she doesn't care.

There's nothing refined or elegant about this. Shepard's desperation has no time for finesse and Aria is not the type to leave fires unstoked. Shepard has been starving to feel something other than hollowness and futility for too long to be restrained and she's aware that she must look ridiculous, half-splayed over a ruined bar, but she doesn't care. Sounds she's never made are tearing themselves from her and spilling into Aria's mouth, but she doesn't care. Let Aria think of her as a weak and wanton human. Right now, they are equals. Right now, she feels alive.

‘There’s profit in survival,’ Aria says, later, an offer masked as a parting shot as Shepard starts to walk away. They both know that Shepard can’t run, but Shepard allows herself the illusion for another stolen moment. The thought of disappearing is tempting - she could discover other galaxies, let this one save itself for once. She could live without being so intrinsically aware of how close she is to the end of it all.

Instead, she clings to the warmth she can still feel in her hands, presses her fingers to her lips like she can trace the memory of Aria’s mouth on her, lets Aria sees the movement. She doesn’t offer a goodbye before she leaves. Finality can wait.


End file.
